Progression
by Moonlit Solstice
Summary: There were 10 stages of love: first sight, introduction, interaction, attraction, date, holding hands, first kiss, relationship, love, and commitment. And neither of them knew they were falling before it was too late. 10 Stages of Love Drabble Series. Weiss/OC
1. First Sight&Introduction

-As kids-

The rain beats sorely against his paled skin, dampening his already-soaked figure, but he dismisses the cold, storming bullets. The lightning flashes blindingly before his obsidian eyes, but he stares straight, stoically, into the distant bolt. The thunder, howling through the gusts of wind and roaring in ferocity, deafens his ears, but despite his sensitive hearing, remains unaffected and endures the everlasting screams. The moon, the only source of light and company in the lonely marketplace, provides for Noctis Wynters a sense of comfort. The little boy sighs, his ears drooping down as his jet-black, raven-style hair hangs slightly over his eyes.

"Why are you lonely?"

The voice had nearly startled him, but he manages to keep himself composed. Shaking his head to rid himself of blurry vision and some dampness, he looks up, staring with bewildered eyes at the white-haired girl holding an umbrella over him. He does not respond; so, she takes the initiative to speak up.

"You're gonna get sick if you stay out here like this." She takes a step toward him.

"I-" He pauses, coughing away the rasping abnormality in his voice. "I could say the same to you."

"I don't get sick all that much." She smiles sweetly and proudly, standing straight with dignity. "My mom says it's 'cause I have a strong immune system!"

He chuckles slightly, taking note of how the raindrops sound when hitting an umbrella as opposed to his skin. The sound, he contemplates, seems full for something so inanimate, as if something without a soul could describe in perfect detail the way the sky changes and bends in its moments of dusk and dawn.

"You never answered my question." Her voice interrupts his thoughts. "Why are you lonely?"

He hesitates before muttering in stuttered breaks. "I-It's not like I-I choose to. It's how most faunus live."

He frowns, his ears drooping further down. She notices the submissive act, and her free hand reaches out to touch his wolf ear. Slowly, she extends her hand, and he forces every fiber in his body to stay stationary. A chill causes him to shiver, and he gasps inaudibly at the light touch comforting his nervous being.

"Weiss? Where are you? We're going home now." The voice breaks them from their own, little reality, and they glance at the beckoning woman before their own eyes meet, orbs of obsidian and pools of pale blue both wishing they had more time to spend together.

"I'm Noctis." He says, Weiss smiling before running off.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own anything.**

**I haven't written anything in a while; so I just felt like doing the 10 Stages of Love drabbles series. I know pairing Weiss with a faunus is probably a common and predictable thing, but I could't help myself... Wolves are my favorite animals... Anyways, I kind of rushed through this, but nonetheless, I hope it was okay. **


	2. Interaction

The little boy curses himself for not being strong enough, for his inability to protect himself, for his scared, shallow breathing and his clumsy hands. He forces his legs to move, to carry him faster and faster through the forest, to lead him somewhere safe - some place he could call a sanctuary. He glances behind him briefly, the monster pursuing him gradually catching up. A muddy puddle causes him to slip, and his obsidian eyes stare directly into the blood-thirsty gaze of the Ursa that had been chasing him. His panting deepens, his hands shaking in trepidation while positioning themselves in front of him, trying desperately to defend the frightened, little Faunus. He shuts his eyes; somehow, the little boy hopes, this would protect him.

His ears perk up at the sound of a thud, and slowly, charcoal-colored orbs reveal themselves, gawking blankly at the logo stitched on the back of his savior's coat. He could recognize that symbol anywhere. "W-White Fang?" He mutters so quietly that his saviour almost missed it.

"Let's go, kid." The man holds out his hand, and immediately, the little boy takes it.

* * *

Noctis sighs, rolling his eyes as the Schnee heiress pesters him for bumping into her when exiting the airship to Beacon Academy. He shifts his feet uncomfortably, taking note of the untied shoelace of his left boot and adjusting the black holster tied to his waist. He tugs on the zipper of his jacket, the sleeves ending just before his elbows, and admires the navy blue color of his pants before finally turning his attention toward the troublesome girl.

"Watch where you're going!" She scolds. "You should _always_ watch where you're going. Attending Beacon Academy is a privilege, and the least students here can do is act accordingly." She crosses her arms, staring straight at her victim, and Noctis could feel the icicles piercing through his very being.

"Sorry." He deadpans, further frustrating Weiss and driving her to continue berating him.

"And _what_ is with the cap?" She points toward the small, black beanie he is wearing, thinking but not admitting that it complemented his raven hair. "It looks ridiculous, and I'm sure it's against the school dress code."

"We're not even in uniform." He retorts, taking a step away from the heiress. "We're not even _students_ yet."

She grumbles in response, and he hears something along the lines of "I'm sure I'll pass," and "You'll be lucky to make it," before she stomps passed him, making sure to nudge his elbow with her own. Rolling his eyes, he resists the urge to chuckle.

Sharp, golden eyes hypnotize him, mesmerizing him in familiarity but only for a brief second. He knows those eyes; he contemplates, and he knows who they belong to. Orbs of onyx widen slightly in acknowledgement, pools of light amber following suit, before Noctis fixes his unknotted shoelace, and Blake Belladonna walks off with a book clasped in her hand.

* * *

**A/N: I do not own anything**


	3. Attraction

He grips tautly the twin daggers in his hands, holding tightly onto the weapons he named Flash Fenrir as his bangs hang slightly over his eyes. His back hunches over, every fiber in his body giving in to the natural instincts of a hunter, and Noctis could not be more prepared for the five Ursa Grimms in front of him. He glances toward his partner, a brown-haired axe-wielder named Rowen, who looks back at him with a smirk of certainty, before both begin their assault - Noctis slashing with ease and favoring his speed, Rowen using powerful swings and depending on his strength.

Noctis sighs, switching his twin daggers to dual pistols and finishing off the remaining Ursa. His hands move to fit his weapons in his holster before reaching up to readjust the black beanie on his head.

"Poor things. They never had a chance." Rowen grins, fixing the creases of his chestnut-colored trench coat.

The raven-haired hunter shrugs, closing his eyes briefly before opening them to find a familiar figure in the sky. He could barely make out the details of the soaring individual - more like falling, he contemplates - but he is sure of her identity. After all, who could forget the white-haired heiress clad in snow-colored clothes? She is screaming her lungs out, cursing her partner for immaturity and dumb decisions, exhausting the full capacity of her diaphragm as it tries desperately to expand for more air, and Noctis hears all of it, acting solely on his natural instincts as a hunter.

He runs toward her, forcing his legs to sprint faster than the processing of his brain, ignoring his teammate calling out to him. He could feel his aura focusing, surging, spreading through the entirety of his very soul, and he beckons the power of his semblance before feeling his aura answering his will. He teleports, leaving crystals dissolving where he once was - that was his semblance, but the farthest he could travel was twenty feet, and performing his power took so much energy out of him.

He catches her, holding her bridal-style, and his hands cannot help but hold onto her as tightly and strongly as they possibly can. Her hands do the same, clinging onto him as he hangs onto both his life and hers. "Hang on." He mutters loud enough for her to hear.

She shuts her eyes, her grip on him surpassing her fear of death and her pride as an independent huntress, and in her blindness, her other senses heighten. She could hear his uneven breathing - slowly taking in as much air as his lungs and diaphragm would allow and quickly releasing the pent-up breath, the exhalation taking half the time the inhalation is. She could taste the dryness of her lips and the rusty flavor of blood in her mouth somehow seeming sweeter than its usual pungency; she had been biting the side of her cheek and drew blood in anticipation of death. She could smell the faint scent of her savior's cologne or deodorant; she cannot decipher what exactly it is, but she absolutely savors the smell. She could feel his hands loosening their grip on her, while her hands merely cling tighter.

His semblance had helped him land safely on the ground, and he tries desperately to quell the rugged pattern of his breathing, the palpitation of his heart beating faster and faster until his chest succumbs to the pulsing pressure and bursts; his hands tremble and throb and shiver in trepidation, as if his heart anticipates dropping her because more often than not, hands will let things slip through their fingers. But his hands do not let her go. Seeing her in trouble and saving her and holding on so tightly to her are all acts due to his natural instincts as a hunter, he contemplates.

He is acting according to his natural instincts as a hunter, he kids himself.

He must force his fingers to loosen their grip before he sets her on her feet. She opens her eyes, pools of pale blue locking with orbs of obsidian, and both the raven-haired hunter and the snow-clad huntress feel familiarity and nostalgia shake the depths of their minds.

"Noctis! Come on, let's go!" A voice snaps them back into reality, but they let their eyes linger for one moment longer.

"Weiss." She introduces herself properly, muttering a "thanks" before watching her savior smiles and runs off.

* * *

**A/N: I do not own anything.**


	4. First Date

"I don't get it! I just don't get it!" The little boy curses, running his fingers through his raven hair. "I had more pieces on the board, and I still lost. Adam, how do you win _all the time_?" He frowns, grabbing the white chess pieces scattered on and around the board and placing them in their starting positions.

The red-head smirks, resetting the black pieces to their original locations. "Quality over quantity, Noctis. You can't just rush in and snatch every piece you see." He glances up, observing the drooping wolf ears of the boy in front of him before crossing his arms.

"What are the winning conditions of this game?" Adam questions rhetorically, still expecting an answer.

Noctis raises an eyebrow, taking the black beanie he had stored in his pocket and placing it over his canine ears. "When the King's captured."

"Exactly." Shifting his attention to the board, Adam explains further. "Besides the skills of one hundred soldiers, an experienced strategist is needed. An adept tactician considers the strengths and weaknesses of his soldiers, the surroundings and advantages of the combat area, as well as the winning conditions, fixing the battle to favor his team."

"This is chess, not some war. So, what's your point?"

"If all you do is rush your soldiers into war, you're a bad strategist; if you still don't understand what I'm saying, you're as moronic as you are a fool." The red-head chuckles to himself. "Now, you have the first move."

* * *

Noctis sighs, staring at the dark liquid contained in his coffee mug and trying desperately to stop his body from moving toward the terrace, where the Schnee heiress stands idly. Obsidian eyes observe the frowning lips of the white-haired huntress, the slouched posture degrading her elegant dignity, and the distant expression in her eyes diminishing her usual grace and tenacity. His heart falls to his knees, pacing its rhythm to match the broken cadence of her shallow breathing, endeavoring to quell the fragments cracking across the feeble armor of her soul. He swallows the lump in his throat, offering his coffee mug to her and averting her gaze.

"I was planning to drink it, but-" He glances toward her, quickly regretting the action and turning to face the sunset in slight panic. "But you look like you could use some coffee right now."

"I don't need your pity." Weiss scowls, following his stare toward the sun. "Besides, I only drink coffee black."

"And I don't need your sass." He resists the urge to chuckle and manages to maintain his stoic expression. "Anyways, the coffee _is_ black. I wouldn't drink it any other way either."

To his surprise and satisfaction, she accepts the mug, taking a small sip before voicing her inquiry. "So what do want? Or are you here to reprimand me too?"

Her lips curve downward, and he notes the slight poison in her voice. "I guess… I just wanna talk to you." He says slowly, scratching the side of his cheek with his index finger.

Orbs of pale blue hide behind eyelids, and she sighs before acknowledging the boy beside her. Words jumble in phrases too clustered to form sentences; she opens her mouth to speak, but her voice breaks inside her dry throat, opting her to take another sip of coffee. A shiver runs down her spine, urging her body to move toward the huntsman, but she forces her feet to stay stationary. "When your team was decided, have you ever thought that you should be leader?"

He shakes his head, needing no time to answer her. "I'm sure Ozpin's too experienced to make the mistake of assigning the wrong person 'leader'. Besides," Team TNBR (Tenebrae), he muses, is best left as it is. "Teresa's best fitted to be leader. Brielle's too kind, and Rowen's just plain reckless."

"What if you didn't trust anyone's judgement? Would you still believe you shouldn't be leader?"

"Yea, I'm a soldier, not a strategist. I'm not fit to be leader."

"And why not? Back in Emerald Forest, you-"

"I know; I caught you after you jumped off that Nevermore." He raised his voice in shallow irritation but calmed it upon noticing that Weiss had taken a small step away from him. "I abandoned my partner in a forest full of Grimm. I mean, he didn't mind; he wasn't really bothered by it or anything, but-" He pauses to catch his breath, realizing the quickened pace of his thudding heartbeat contributing to his shortage of air. "But, a good leader would've never just run off like that."

Slowly swallowing more coffee, she savors the bitter taste of the natural brew, while he quietly revels in the scent of a sweet, sharp pungency.

"Ruby did that, and she almost got herself killed." She deadpans.

"She's gutsy; that's for sure." He chuckles airily, turning to walk away. "Anyways, I gotta go." He takes a step before a voice causes him to hesitate, heading towards his team room after waving 'good-bye.' Her words ring in his ears, echoing throughout the entirety of his mind and eardrums, and his lips curve upward at the thought. _Next time, I'll bring _you_ coffee._

* * *

**A/N: I don't own anything.**

**Anyways, I know this isn't really an actual date, but I hope it was still, to some extent, enjoyable. :3**


	5. Holding Hands I

"You can't be serious," Noctis mutters, glaring at the silent, red-haired faunus. "What about the people on that train!? You're just gonna let them die!?"

His hands tighten into fists, but he makes sure they stay anchored at his sides, his fingers clasped tautly together, delving deeper into his palms. The wordlessness exasperates him, provoking him as he bites his lip until drawing blood. The wordlessness, he knows, is Adam's answer.

Noctis turns away, his back facing the red-head. "If equality means killing, if freedom means slaughter," He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. "Then I want no part of it."

Facing forward, his obsidian eyes meet amber ones that widen slightly in perplexity, but he does not acknowledge her tacit inquiry. His hand moves to readjust his black beanie, and he leaves his partners.

No, not just his partners, he corrects himself; he leaves the White Fang.

* * *

"W-what happened here?" Rowen mutters, Noctis looking over the shattered glass.

The raven-haired huntsman peers into the mirrored fragments - staring, gawking, glancing over each individual shard. The crystalline surface reflects his true self, the refracting light forming the negativity and hostility damaging his reputation and the misguided valor he once believed in. He does not see a reflection of himself, not even a hollow copy or a raw echo of his current state. The images intensify, and the calamities he had caused overwhelm the misfortunes of his own past, the hostility of others due to his own indignation. Biting his lip, he believes, is the only way to stop him from screaming. He sighs, shaking his head to rid himself of lingering guilt before replying to his partner. "It looks like a Dust Shop robbery."

His ears perk up at the sound of upcoming footsteps from behind him, and he does not turn to face the owners of the _click-and-clatter_. He hovers a hand over his twitching, wolf ears, hoping that fixing his beanie to lean farther back would quell their fervent movement; he does not need to look to know that it is Team RWBY.

"That's terrible." Yang sighs, resting her hand on her hip.

"They left all the money again." The police officers converse while Team RWBY, as well as Noctis and his partner Rowen, stays silent and listens.

"Hmm… Yea, it just doesn't make a lick a' sense. Who needs_ that_ much Dust?"

"I dunno. Ya know what I mean?"

"You thinkin' the uhh… White Fang?"

"Yea, I'm thinkin' we don't get paid enough."

Weiss crosses her arms. "The White Fang, what an awful bunch of degenerates." She scoffs.

Noctis frowns, looking a little too hostile than he intended. Her comment should not have bothered him so much; it should not have aggravated and irked him so much that he stepped quickly toward her, his body willing itself to seemingly lunge at the heiress. He opens his mouth to retort, but a hand lightly squeezing his elbow catches him off guard; so, he graciously, yet somewhat reluctantly, permits his old friend to counter.

"What's_ your_ problem?" Blake inquires, maintaining a stoic expression.

"_My_ problem? I simply don't care for the criminally insane." Weiss shrugs, as if her response needs no justification.

"The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths. They're a collection of misguided faunas."

Noctis resists the urge to smile, looking over the cool demeanor of his old friend as she crosses her arms. She was always better - a lot better - with words than he, and he was beyond grateful for her quick-wittedness and clever rationality.

As Blake and Weiss continue their dispute, Yang and Ruby question his partner on the whereabouts of his other teammates, Rowen grinning before explaining how both huntsmen had barely escaped the clutches of their teammates wanting to drag them into a shoe store a few blocks away. Noctis closes his eyes, half-heartedly listening to the fuzzed-up whispers and stutters and bickering conversations around him, dancing mockingly around his wary ears.

The noise becomes high-pitched and deafening, ear-splitting and raucous, shrilling and piercing his once composed mentality; he cannot help but be driven crazy by the resounding, aching shrieks. A groan escapes his lips as his hands reach up to hover over his beanie, his fingers feelings the light fabric concealing his stigma - _stigmas_. He becomes inattentive, his body going through the motions of following his partner before his mind could register or recompose itself. He growls in frustration, unaware of the glance Blake's sympathetic eyes had done, and he allows his arms to fall to his sides.

His feet carry him toward the docks of downtown Vale before turning at a street corner, dashing after his friends. His legs cease movement almost immediately; they hesitate to join the group Team RWBY and his partner had formed, all of whom seem preoccupied with a peculiar green-eyed girl. He sighs, closing his eyes before a wave of nostalgia floods his mind. He met a girl before, a friend - months before he met even Blake, but he cannot remember her name; he can barely remember her face, but he remembers that her innocence gave life to the inanimate, and her touch chilled him, caused him to shiver. He remembers clearly the way she had lifted loneliness off his shoulders and how it came back when he watched her leave.

"Does that mean you know that monkey-tailed rapscallion?"

The voice breaks him from his thoughts, and a frown forms his lips, aimed at the Schnee Heiress. He tries to compose himself, to keep himself calm and collected, but the white-clad huntress's next words irk and, unknown to her, offend him.

"The filthy faunus from the boat!" Weiss exclaims, the green-eyed girl - Penny - retreating upon noticing the movements of the raven-haired huntsman.

His body had lunged toward her again, stopping directly in front of her, both hunters aware of the other's proximity. The shadows of his obsidian hair shield his eyes, and he must swallow the lump in his throat to keep his faults and feebleness, his breaking voice, in check. "Shut up." Anger tones his next words, and he nearly surprises himself with his own frustration. "Someone like you, who's had everything given to her, would never understand how hard it was!"

Weiss forces her body to stay stationary despite her brain commanding her to step back, her eyes widening at his outburst before she retaliates. "_What_ are you even talking about?" She crosses her arms; it sounded like he was speaking from experience - she contemplates.

"Faunus are the _target_ of discrimination for humans! They mock and insult faunus. They criticize and ridicule and curse them. They'll do whatever it takes to humiliate them." His hands tighten into fists, but he makes sure they stay anchored at his sides. "And the White Fang gave faunus a chance! It gave them hope that one day, they'll actually be treated like people!"

"Like people?" She scoffs, her arms falling to her sides. "Faunus of the White Fang are a bunch of degenerates, thieves, and liars! They're terrorists!"

He grits his teeth; she was right, and he cannot deny the truth. He reaches his hand up clumsily, shakingly, his fingers lightly trailing the stitches of the fabric atop his head. His breathing is deep - it is slow (and somehow painful.) He turns away, his back facing her, and he feels Blake's sympathy and his partner's tacit pleas to compose himself.

"They're a bunch of savages."

He feels the poison in her voice, and his hand rips the beanie off his head before falling limply to his side. His hand, dangling a bit too far back, softly collides with her unmoving one, causing him to shiver at her chilling touch. His fingers lose their grip on his beanie, letting it heavily hit the ground, as her fingers reach out cautiously, carefully, to trace over his calloused skin. Her fingers hover over his hand, hesitant, her fingers wanting nothing more than to intertwine with his.

_Am I still a savage?_ She hears in a voice barely above a whisper, causing her to pull her hand back. She curses herself. She was right. She was right all along. She won the argument. She sighs, but she was slightly perplexed.

"Noctis! Wait!" Rowen beckons toward the huntsman hastily retreating before rubbing the back of his head, contemplating how he has to explain everything to his team.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own anything**

**There's gonna be a second part to this.**


End file.
